


Glow

by seamonster



Series: Some Assembly Required [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-binary Reader - Freeform, Other, Post-Recall, Reader is a Sniper, human/omnic relations, zen is A+ boyfriend material
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 19:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16624919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamonster/pseuds/seamonster
Summary: When a mission doesn't go entirely as planned, Zenyatta is there to help you pick up the shattered pieces of your soul. As he always is. As you hope he always will be.





	Glow

**Author's Note:**

> listen, out of all the guys in overwatch, it's pretty undeniable that Zen would make the best boyfriend.

You were the first one off the drop-ship. While that wasn't entirely unusual, today was different. Your posture was stiff, vision narrow as you beelined right out of the hanger before the rest of your team had even made it down the ramp. Gone in quick silence. 

 

It was impossible to tell whether or not you were making a lot of noise as you wound through the halls, pace never faltering. The dull roaring of your own blood beat in time with the throb of your pulse, drowning out all else.

 

Your body was moving on autopilot, feet taking you straight to your room whilst your mind was still hundreds of miles away, echoing what it saw over and over before your eyes. That last second, split finer than silk threads as they snapped your soul in half.

 

The door opened with a hiss and you plunged yourself right into the dark. The ringing silence consumed you once it shut again, breath coming to you in quiet but heavy bursts.

 

Your rifle and sidearm were the only things you took off carefully, placing them down on the small couch. The rest fell with muffled  _ thunks _ , body armor caught in the folds of your jacket as you shucked it to the floor. Free of constructions, breathing came a little easier, but only a little.

 

You wanted to grab a bottle of water, maybe some painkillers for the ache budding behind your eyes, but instead found yourself falling face-first into the familiar comfort of your bed. It was still unmade from when you crawled out of it two days ago, making it perfect to burrow into now, still otherwise dressed.

 

Shutting your eyes took you right back to that moment only hours ago and your lids sprang back open. So you stared at the wall instead, body tired and sore. Your heart felt as heavy as your limbs, numbness buzzing in the tips of your fingers. 

 

Maybe you fell asleep, maybe you didn't. Time became liquid in the quiet darkness of your room and you slipped right through it like a leaf into the gutter. No one had come looking for you about the debriefing yet and your comm was… somewhere. Probably in your jacket. Most of your limbs were numb by now.

 

The door opened so quietly, you barely heard it. Though it was more likely that you were so buried in the torturous dissociation that the hiss and slide didn't even register in your eardrums. 

 

You felt the soothing warmth touch you gently on the shoulder before the golden glow hazed over you and the wall you stared at. Another tingled as it gently attached itself to your hip and the haze grew a little brighter. 

 

Both worked in tandem to soothe tightly tensed muscles and aches. The soreness in your hip from laying on that rooftop eased away, followed by the typical ache in your shoulder from your rifle’s kickback. The headache behind your eyes became smaller until it faded entirely.

 

A weight perched itself carefully on the edge of your bed, behind you. As the gold orbs continued to work at your muscles, you felt him pick up your feet and remove your boots; consideration in every touch. Next came your pants. His fingers were surprisingly warm as they unfastened your fatigues, sliding them down your tired legs.

 

The weight disappeared for a moment, but soon came back. This time with lounge shorts to replace the rough pants. He changed your whole outfit this way, dressing you in your favorite lazy clothes and tucking you under the blankets. 

 

You listened to him move about your room in the dark; probably putting your gear and laundry away properly, as you'd failed to do. Soon enough, he was sliding into bed behind you.

 

You noticed he was wearing a sweatshirt, the knit jersey was soft against your arms as his own embraced you. It provided a slight cushioning as he pressed his chest to your back, and a pang of fondness cut right through your already delicate emotional state. Hot tears warping your vision.

 

He didn't say anything and neither did you. He let you cry out your pain, squeezing you tighter when your sobs bordered on hyperventilation. You appreciated it in a way you could never begin to describe. At some point he shifted to lean some of his weight onto you, pressing you into the mattress and anchoring you in reality while you lost your grip on it.

 

His faceplate nestled into the back of your head, almost like he was smelling your hair. It was probably good that he didn't have a nose, though. You undoubtedly needed to scrub yourself of the sweat and grime of the firefight. But that would come later. For now, you bared your agony. For now, you let every seam unravel and left yourself wholly in his hands.

 

It felt like hours until you could calm down, perhaps it was. He held you the entire time. Every touch was measured and tender, ever mindful of your limits. The humming of his internal workings was faint but comforting as your breathing finally began to even out. Still, he didn't speak. He'd wait as long as he needed to for you to feel ready to tell him on your own.

 

The orbs smoothed out any chance of grogginess that would've clouded your mind after weeping like that. It was something you always appreciated. With a sniffle, you shifted and he immediately loosened his hold to let you turn around so you could bury your face into the smooth, cylinder tendons of his neck. When you were settled, he resumed his embrace, this time able to slowly stroke his fingers through your hair.

 

Your voice came out as a rasp at first, so you cleared your throat and tried again.

 

“There were children…”

 

Not just children, omnic children. 

 

Acting on a tip, Winston had sent your team out to Australia to look into a cell of junkers who'd been turning omnic parts into quite the profit. What you'd found there was an entire operation of omnic trafficking and scrapping. Some of the omnics they were hacking and selling off as slaves. Others they were murdering and taking apart to sell. There were so many children.

 

You had taken high ground, covering Jesse and Lucio as they went in. Genji flanking where the junkers least expected it. All in all, everything went smoothly. The junkers were hellish to take down, fighting like rabid dogs, but you'd all known to expect that. Some surrendered, some died. Same shit, different day.

 

And then,  _ he'd  _ shown his face.

 

The man's name was Jeremiah Lench, and he'd been on your hit list for years. Con man, thief, rapist, murderer, extortionist; you name it and he's probably done it at least once. He was, as McCree would say, a nasty piece of work. And he was right there, running out of one of the buildings on the compound, into the confused chaos of the fight. 

 

You had a clear shot, the kind of perfect set up that could only be divinely arranged. So you took a quick breath and aimed. Hot, dry air blew across your back as time slowed and your focus narrowed onto his face. There might be no second chance, you needed a clean head-shot. In a sharp second, you balanced his movement and speed against the wind, calculating his trajectory and squeezing the trigger.

 

You didn't realize what he was doing until your shot echoed over the distance. And you could only watch through your scope in horror as he snatched the child up to try and use as a shield from the fight.

 

But your shot found its mark, and two bodies hit the dirt. Everything else became static in the haze of your memories. You don't necessarily remember the wrap up, or the flight back.

 

Zenyatta's sweatshirt soaked up your tears as you recounted the incident between soft sobs. He held you as close as he could without crushing you against him, and waited until you were finished to tilt his face down and press your foreheads together. His voice was a soft thing.

 

“It speaks volumes to the depth of your kindness that this hurts you so.”

 

“Zen--”

 

“It is alright to weep for the innocent life lost, my love. To feel that pain.” He pressed the cool surface of his faceplate carefully against your cheek next, nuzzling in slightly. His fingers trailed from your hair to your jaw, thumb brushing over the shell of your ear. “But we both know that their death was not your fault.”

 

...He was right, you did know. Just as you knew that your teammates would not look at you any differently for what happened. You’d all seen and been through some version of hell in your lives. Your own hands were beyond stained red, they were dripping with more blood and oil than anyone knew. The child was just another tragic casualty of an endless war.

 

Yet it still hurt, as it always hurt.

 

Zenyatta gladly let you pull him impossibly closer, absolutely wedging yourself against him and pulling a little of his weight over you again to listen to his processor hum.

 

Eventually, two orbs became one, and the remaining eight that you’d barely noticed before circled almost lazily above where you lay tangled together. You were on the edge of sleep, the exhaustion of the last forty-odd hours finally catching up to you, when you heard the first one chime, then another. They created a becalming melody, assuaging your path into a dreamless sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoy long stretches of silence and the occasional photo of a cat, you can follow me on twitter @seamobeemo


End file.
